The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag

by Brian S. Pratt

“What do you mean?”

  The sound of metal drawn from a scabbard drew their attention. Scar stood with both blades in hand as a trio of ghostly apparitions walked across the clearing toward them.

  Potbelly glanced to Adam but the old trapper didn’t look particularly worried.

  “What do we do?” asked Scar.

  “Put your swords away for one thing,” Adam said. “They won’t do anything to spirits; unless they’ve been blessed at a temple.” He turned to Potbelly. “Have they?”

  “Not for as long as I’ve known him.”

  Scar chose not to heed his words. He kept both swords at the ready.

  The three apparitions continued their approach. Each wore a uniform of unknown design and at their hips hung short swords. Upon reaching halfway across the clearing, they drew their swords.

  Scar backed up until he stood next to Potbelly.

  “I judge…” began Adam, “that they will stop….Now.”

  As if on cue, the three ghosts came to a halt.

  Scar turned to the trapper. “How did you do that?”

  “I didn’t.” He then patted Moonshine Rock. “This did.”

  “The Rock?”

  Adam nodded, then to Potbelly said, “The warmth you felt coming from the rock is the residual effects of last night’s moon.” When his two companions continued looking on in confusion, he continued.

  “By method unknown, Moonshine Rock creates an area wherein spirits cannot exist. The waning and waxing of the moon alters the area of effect. When a full moon shines light upon it, this entire clearing, all the way to the tree line is protected from wayward spirits. Of course, you don’t want to be here when there’s a new moon. Without light, the spirits have free reign.”

  Potbelly searched the sky. “But the moon has yet to rise. There is no light shining upon the Rock.”

  “Some residual effects hold over once the moon passes from sight. If the moon is bright enough, say half-moon or greater, then the area nearest the Rock remains safe until it rises the next day. But, when it is but a crescent, being here would not be a good idea.”

  “Adam!” a young voice exclaimed. “You’re here!”

  The spirit of a young boy skipped across the clearing to their left. He waved as he came closer.

  “Darrik,” the trapper greeted. “How are you this evening?” He walked over to where the boy came to a stop at the edge of the field projected from the Rock.

  “Better now that you are here.”

  Bren came forward and the boy petted the bear’s head even though it was quite apparent that his ghostly hand never actually came into contact.

  “I brought some friends this time.” He turned and waved Scar and Potbelly over.

  Potbelly started to head his way when he realized his friend had yet to move.

  Still holding his swords, Scar stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the spectral boy petting a bear.

  Gesturing to Scar’s swords, Potbelly said, “Put those away and come on.”

  Mouth closed, swords entered scabbards and he joined Potbelly on the way to join the trapper.

  “Darrik, I’d like you to meet Scar and Potbelly,” he said. “Two fighters of fearsome skill.”

  The boy bobbed his head. “Good to make your acquaintance.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Scar replied nervously. “Good to make yours, too.”

  Potbelly stepped forward and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  The boy pulled back and Adam grabbed Potbelly’s arm. “Don’t. The living cannot suffer the touch of the dead.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Why?” Scar asked.

  Adam shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Better ask a priest.”

  “What will happen?”

  “Take two steps forward and find out.”

  Scar eyed the trapper and didn’t know whether to be irritated or not. He opted for not and remained where he was.

  Darrik looked to Scar. “Do you have any stories?”

  “It gets kind of lonely out here for him,” Adam explained.

  “Yeah…I can understand that,” Potbelly said.

  Spirits of all manner of men, both fighters and not, walked about the clearing. Darrik was the only boy.

  “I think we can spin a tale or two,” Scar said.

  The boy squealed in delight, hopped into the air and then settled cross-legged on the ground.

  “Well, there was this time that we traveled to the underground city…”

  Potbelly tapped him on the shoulder. “Perhaps not that one,” he said, then pointed to Darrik. “Just a boy,”

  “Oh, right.”

  “How about telling how we snuck the rug out from under the Priest of Mish Nauru?”

  Scar grinned. “Perfect.”

  Settling down before Darrik, Scar began, “It all started on a crazy night at the Festival of the Full Moon. Little did Potbelly and me know that folks get themselves married on that evening. You see, earlier in the day…”

  As Scar spun his tale, the ghost-boy Darrik sat with rapt attention.

  -7-

  “…and so in flew Potbelly, covered in honey and one of the guards shattered a large urn on his head. But, having a thick head like he does, it barely caused him to skip a beat. And do you want to know what the funniest thing about all that was?”

  Eyes wide, sitting with chin in hands and giggling, Darrik asked, “What?”

  “The urn was full of feathers.”

  Darrik squealed in glee as he stomped his feet.

  “Who puts feathers in an urn?” Scar demanded cheerfully. “So there he was, running around the temple, covered in feathers like a great big bird.”

  Unable to contain himself, Darrik grabbed his middle and tears welled from his eyes as he laughed.

  “Then a guard rushed in with a big net and tried to catch him. Here birdy, birdy, birdy.”

  “You can’t catch me!” he squawked, flapping his arms.

  Darrik lost it and fell backward laughing.

  “The entire temple was in an uproar, guards running all over the place and so while he distracted everyone, I snuck in and snatched the rug.”

  “With that we hightailed it out of there to where our horses waited.”

  Scar got a far-off look as he said, “To this day, there are stories about the big bird riding a horse through town.”

  He gave a slight bow then a flourish indicating the story was over which was greeted by a scattering of applause.

  “Well told,” said one of the scores of ghostly figures that had gathered around and behind Darrik to hear the tale.

  Taking another bow, Scar said, “Thank you.”

  Darrik got himself under control. “Tell another,” he pleaded.

  “Moon’s almost to rise,” one of the ghostly warriors said.

  Disappointment came over the ghost-boy. “Really?”

  “Yes,” agreed Adam. “It would not do for you to remain here when it does.”

  Pouting, the boy turned to Scar. “Will you come back and tell another?”

  “I promise if I am ever again in this area, I will.”

  The boy grinned and then faded into nothingness.

  One by one the ghostly figures vanished. Moments after the last one disappeared, the moon broke over the distant peaks.

  With the first rays of moonlight, Moonshine Rock blazed forth with light akin to that of the ghosts. It flowed to the edge of clearing, brightened momentarily once it reached the trees then softened to a warm luminescence barely brighter than that of the moon itself. The entire clearing was filled with the soft light.

  “And they’re gone?” asked Potbelly.

  Adam nodded. “On nights when the moon passes from sight before the sun rises, they will return. Though I do not think tonight is such a night.” He turned to Scar. “That was a nice thing you did.”

  “What? Telling a story?” Scar asked. “I enjoyed it. I doubt they have much with which to entertain themselves.”

  He
shook his head. “They do not. Did you mean what you said?”

  “About coming back?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Yes. Though I do not think our travels will again bring us this way.” He eyed Potbelly who shrugged. “But if they do, we will return to Moonshine Rock; for Darrik if no other reason.”

  “That’s all anyone could ask.”

  It was warm by the Rock when they made camp. The spectral power, glow, or whatever it was created a comfortable environment. Sleep slipped over them very quickly.

  The following morning Scar was the first to wake. He glanced around the clearing wondering for a moment if Darrik and the rest of the spirits had been real. The Rock was still quite warm to the touch. “I guess it had been real,” he murmured to himself.

  “Hard to believe, though.”

  Scar glanced to where Potbelly still laid under his blanket, propped up on one elbow. “Wasn’t it? I liked that ghost kid.”

  “Me, too.”

  Bren laid heavily against the Rock; Adam leaned up against him.

  Potbelly noticed the trapper watching them. “So, how do we get to Cara from here?”

  Coming to his feet, Adam said, “After we eat, I’ll show you.”

  A quick meal of rations and then he led them to where a small trail led from the eastern edge of the clearing. “Follow this and it will take you over yonder ridge. You will be able to see Cara from up there.”

  “Could we reach Cara by nightfall?” Scar asked.

  “Possible.”

  “We thank you,” Potbelly said.

  Adam patted him on the back. “Glad to do it. You boys are okay.” Then to Scar, “Enjoyed your storytelling by the way.”

  “Appreciate that. You and Bren take care of each other.”

  “Oh, we will.”

  Swinging up into the saddle, Scar said, “Fare well.”

  “May your journeys lead you to happy endings,” Adam said.

  He waved until they were a bit down the trail, then he and Bren began the long trek back.

  Adam’s words proved far from prophetic. By the time they crested the ridge, the sun had long since set and the stars were out in force.

  Gazing at the lights of Cara far off in the distance, Potbelly said, “Best to wait for morning to continue.”

  “Or mid-afternoon.” When Potbelly glanced at him, Scar added, “Garrock’s men are already there and they are going to have all paths and trails watched I’d wager.”

  “Thinking of slipping through under cover of night?”

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t have to enter the city,” Potbelly said. “All we need to do is find the old wagon trail leading up to the mountains.”

  “Which we are currently on,” Scar concluded.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. Wouldn’t it be possible for there to be many old wagon trails leaving a city that size? It might take days to search them all and even then, we might not find him.”

  Scar considered it. “You may be right. It would be nice if this very trail we’re following was the one on which we’ll find Matlin.”

  “Couldn’t be that easy,” laughed Potbelly.

  “Never is, is it?”

  “So, what, we make our way around Cara and follow every wagon trail like spokes on a wheel?”

  “That will take way too long,” Scar said.

  “We could ask around.”

  “Who could we trust?”

  “None that I can think of.”

  Potbelly sighed. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow.”

  They made camp and refrained from making a fire. They didn’t want to run the risk of setting a beacon atop the ridge that anyone looking up that way would see. No sense alerting others to their presence.

  Morning came and they waited until well after noon before making their way down to the coast. The glittering Sorba Sea made a beautiful backdrop to Cara with ships at sail; both coming in to port, and heading out for destinations unknown.

  They kept to the thickest part of the forest as they descended from the ridge. Not far from the top they reached an old trail that winded down from higher up. Pausing for a moment, they examined the trail and searched for signs of human habitation in both directions.

  “Grass has grown up here pretty good,” Potbelly commented.

  Scar nodded. “Doubt if anyone’s been on this trail in years.”

  Grass, bushes and a few small trees dotted the trail throughout the length of it they could see.

  “We’ll follow it down,” Scar said. “Make better time.”

  “Might run into one of Garrock’s men.”

  Laying a hand on a sword hilt, Scar replied, “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

  The trail wound through the forest and crossed several streams before ending at a larger, more well-maintained road. Unlike the trail, this road was in use. A team of eight horses pulled a wagon loaded with lengths of fresh-cut timber.

  The driver saw the pair emerge from the trees but said nothing. He kept his eyes down and did his best to ignore them.

  “Could ask him,” Potbelly whispered to Scar.

  “I doubt if he’d know anything. Matlin has been here for years; we need to find locals a little older and more in tune with people’s comings and goings.”

  Potbelly chuckled. “Sounds like a good time to drop by a local tavern for an ale.”

  “First we have to get into town.”

  “Right.”

  Nodding to the driver, they turned their horses toward the city in the distance and headed out.

  Night was fast approaching when they left the forest behind and entered an area of farming. Out from the Cara’s walls, farms stretched for several miles. Even at this late hour, workers were in the fields tending the various crops.

  When the sun hit the horizon, they crested a hill and saw where their road joined with the main trade route linking the cities along the shore of the Sorba Sea. A small cluster of buildings gathered around the junction. Three were small buildings, perhaps housing a blacksmith or a chandler while the fourth was three-storied, likely an inn. Just behind it stood the fifth structure; elongated and with a fenced area to one side containing horses said this was a stable.

  “That inn is going to be watched.”

  Potbelly nodded. “Undoubtedly. Think we should go around?”

  “Been thinking about that,” Scar replied. “If Garrock has a man, or men, there to watch for our approach, then it would stand to reason that he’d have men stationed in all possible locations where we might turn up.”

  “He wouldn’t congregate them all in one place.”

  Glancing to his friend, Scar said, “No, he wouldn’t. Let’s go have an ale and see whose attention we draw.”

  The common room of The Slippery Eel was not yet half full when they entered. Spying a table near the back, they made their way to it.

  “Ale!” Scar hollered across several tables to the barmaid. “We’ve come a long way and have a mighty thirst.”

  “And meat!” yelled Potbelly.

  The girl nodded and then carried a tray loaded with spent dishes to the kitchen.

  They moved with purposeful strides to the table and sat with their backs to the wall. Their gazes immediately scanned their fellow patrons. A few glanced their way but quickly returned to their conversations. One pair, three tables away, repeatedly cast glances their way though they tried to look as if they were not. Both were travel-worn and well-armed. The taller and darker of the two bore a single-headed battle axe across his back while the other had a sword.

  Scar spotted them and discreetly directed Potbelly’s attention that way.

  “Think they’re Garrock’s men?” Potbelly asked.

  “Maybe.”

  Their serving girl plopped two mugs of ale on the table before them. “That’s a half silver,” she said. “The rest will be out shortly.”

  “Could you help us with something?”

  She turned to Potbelly who held
out another silver. “If it’s a roll in the hay, you might want to find another.”

  He shook his head. “No, that is not what we want.”

  Eyeing the silver, she asked, “Then, what?”

  “Information.”

  “About what?”

  Potbelly gestured with a nod of his head toward the two men. “They’ve been staring at us since we arrived. Are they locals?”

  She cast a quick look then shook her head. “No. I think they arrived a day or so ago. Been here since sunup.”

  “Just sitting there?” Scar asked.

  “Yes.”

  Potbelly handed her the silver. “If you find out more about them, there will be another silver in it for you. They may be dangerous so be careful.”

  Pocketing the coin, she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Has to be Garrock’s men,” Scar said.

  “How do you want to play this?”

  Their serving girl appeared from the kitchen with a platter of food and headed their way.

  “Eat first, then we’ll try to draw them out.”

  The meat was still asizzlin’ on the platter and after days of trail rations, it tasted oh so good.

  The two men remained in the common room throughout their meal. Scar wondered if perhaps they were not Garrock’s men.

  “Wouldn’t you think one of them would have gone for reinforcements before now?”

  Potbelly shrugged. “Maybe they are unsure if we are the ones they are after and don’t want to bring Garrock’s wrath down upon them if they get him and are wrong.”

  Pushing his now empty plate away, Scar gave out with a satisfied belch. “Let’s test that. I’ll leave and if one of them follows, we’ll know.”

  Potbelly watched the men out of the corner of his eye as Scar got to his feet. The shorter of the two nudged the other. Both watched with unveiled interest as Scar walked toward the door. The taller of the two hurriedly got to his feet and followed.

  “Here we go…” Potbelly said.

  Outside the inn, Scar walked down the street for a ways then, “accidentally” dropped his coin purse. Bending over to pick it up, he caught sight of the man following him. He slipped the pouch into his shirt then continued down the road. Spying a wooded area steeped in shadow up ahead on the right, he turned toward it.